


I Fuck The Dead

by orphan_account



Category: Child - Fandom, Necrophilia - Fandom, Pedophilia - Fandom, Taboo - Fandom, Twisted Horror, Young - Fandom, macabe
Genre: Asshole father, Big Breasts, Biting, Child, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Corpse Desecration, Corpses, Creampie, Dark, Dead People, Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Forbidden, Fucking, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hairy Pussy, Hymen, Illegal Activities, Kinky, Loneliness, Loss of Control, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Macabre, Multi, Multiple Creampies, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Murder-Suicide, Necrophilia, Other, Pedophilia, Psychological Trauma, Rough Sex, Roughness, Secrets, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Fantasy, Taboo, Teenage Boy - Freeform, Tragedy, Underage Rape/Non-con, Vaginal Sex, Virginity, Young, boy - Freeform, child love, child sex, come oozing, dark desires, daughter - Freeform, hairless pussy, mother - Freeform, sexual awakening, young man fucks mother and daughter corpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 18:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The story deals with a young man who is forced to grow up too soon and groomed to take over his father's funeral business. One night the bodies of a mother and underage daughter come in. Alone, and still a virgin, the boy decides that now is the perfect to time to have his first sexual experience.  Dark themes explored, such as sexual awakenings happening with the dead and sexual acts with an adult woman and child corpse.





	I Fuck The Dead

You can’t trust anyone in life.

I found this out when I was only 10 years old when I got up one morning and went downstairs to find that the stove wasn’t on. There was no scent of frying bacon or biscuits sitting out on the counter, ready to be smothered in butter and jam. There was only silence and a sensation not unlike that of having a perfectly wonderful dream, only to find out that it has become a nightmare. I wandered around the house for about thirty minutes or so, calling out for my mother and opening and closing doors, but I think a part of me already knew the answers long before my mind and heart could come to terms with them. She was gone. And she would never, ever return back into my life.

My father ran the town’s only funeral home in a large room beneath the house. Our mother never allowed us down there, for fear that we would become too worked up over seeing our father’s work. But I had sneaked down there on many occasions, so it did not disturb me when I walked in on my father staring at the corpse of a rotund, naked elderly woman when I walked in, a white sheet held in his hand as he arranged it over her pasty skin. He only gave me a sidelong glance as I entered. His face betraying no emotion of any kind.

“Mom. Where is she?”

I’ll never forget the way my father shrugged as I asked him that question. I might as well have asked him if he thought it was going to rain in the next week or not. “Sometimes, a person just gets too big for the place they’re living in. Your mom, she never really belonged in this town. She’s better off where she is now.”

I cocked my head, not sure if I’d heard him right. “But, she’s coming back, right, Dad?”

My father just went back to working on the heavy set corpse on the table. “You’d best stay home from school today. A lot of work to be done getting the little ones off to school.”

I did actually spend the day at home instead of at school getting all five of my brothers packed and ready, all the while dodging multiple inquiries about where our mother had gone. There was a terrible burning in my chest as I choked all of my sorrow and heartache behind a smile and a joke, trying to avoid telling my siblings the truth of things for as long as possible. I knew our father, working his long hours and hiding off in his study, would be of no help to me.

Days at home turned into weeks, which turned into months, and then years. Against my will, I had taken our mother’s place in the house by default. Meals had to be cooked, the house had to be cleaned and my siblings had to be taken care of. And when I was not doing that my father got it into his head to groom me to take over the family business when and if he ever decided to retire. So instead of spending my days planning my future as I saw fit, I spent it chasing children around the house, cleaning windows and having to deal with handling dead people. There were no moments when anyone asked me if I was alright. No parties or dances or late night necking at some secluded spot in the woods. There was only work. And more work. And miserable nights spent dreaming increasingly dismal and dull dreams.

One stormy night, when I was around 16 years old, the ambulance brought in a couple of corpses from the hospital down the road. I looked at the two bodies, covered in sheets, as my father pushed them into the room. It had been a long day, what with one of my brothers being sick and my father and I having to deal with four bodies that had all been involved in the same car accident. I was bone tired, and think my father knew this, because, for once, he didn’t seem eager to finish these two up tonight.

“Mother and daughter. Murder and suicide. Got in the old station wagon and gassed the both of them. Terrible business. But, well, that’s just the way things are.” His eyes didn’t meet mine as he turned and walked out. I just stood there for a minute, taken back in time when I had stood in this very room and been told by him how life was. How my mother was. I wondered if he had really ever cared about any of us.

I was about to leave, too, but then curiosity got the better of me and I found myself drawn to the two bodies the sheets. Both of the metal tables had been placed side by side, one covering a much longer body than the other. I reached a hand out and grabbed the ends of both cloths at once, pulled them aside and flung them onto the floor.

The naked bodies of a shapely blonde haired woman in her thirties and small child of about ten or so were lying on their backs, eyes closed as if in sleep. My eyes wandered to the woman’s pert tits, which were actually the first attractive pair I had ever seen in real life. Up until that point, most of the corpses I had seen were all elderly or in some other way decayed or disfigured. I felt my cock twitch as I stared at every curve of her naked flesh, from the crown of her blonde head all the way down to her hairy muff.

The child had the stunning good looks of her mother, just in a much smaller form. Her face was like that of an angel, long curly locks framing her cherubic face. Her chest was as flat as a boys, the only sign she was a girl being the length of her hair and the smooth, hairless slit between her legs. For some reason that has always eluded me, I found myself aching to reach out and touch those delicate little lips, both the ones on her face and the far more intimate ones between her tiny legs.

Hesitantly, I took my hands and placed one on the mother’s face and one on the little girl’s. I let myself explore the shapes of their noses, the coldness of their skin, the shape of their lips. There was a dark kind of fire inside of my chest, my back, my groin as I worked my way down, feeling the swell of the mother’s breasts along with the smooth flat expanse of the child’s chest, with its tiny little nipples. Their deaths felt so beautiful to me in that moment. Their lives had ended in a horrible tragedy from which they would never awake. There was a wonderful kind of finality to the ugliness of that. Something about it spoke to my heart in a very visceral way.

I pulled my cock out of my pants, letting it hang down the front of my pants as I explored the mother and daughter’s most intimate parts. Their pussies could not have been more different. The mother had large, hanging labia and a tight, muscled vagina that could take the entire length of my fingers. The little girl was tight. So tight in fact that I had to struggle to get even one finger in. Her pussy excites me most of all, making me wonder what it would feel like to force myself into those excruciatingly small depths.

But I also felt weirded out by my attraction to the child and, not wanting her to be my first sexual experience, I turned my attention to her mother. Barely containing my boyish excitement, I pulled her legs downward to where I was holding her half off the table. My eyes went from her giant, jiggling breasts down to her hairy snatch, lips parting for me as I worked my erection between her legs. I spit on the head of my cock, letting the saliva cover me before I sunk the swollen head into the woman’s pussy. As any man will tell you, the feeling of a vagina for the first time, as opposed to a hand or some such, is one of the most amazing feelings in the world. I made several deep, fast thrusts, making the corpse move back and forth as I let myself get lost in the sensation of finally getting to fuck a woman. To me, if felt like forever, holding the corpse's legs high into the air as I experimented what position felt best. I knelt my head down to feast on those beautiful tits, working myself up to a feverish and intense orgasm.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” I screamed, my whole body going rigid as I let loose with several spurts of come deep inside the corpse’s dead cunt. I came so much I felt like I was losing my soul in her, and for a second or two it frightened me. But then I was me again, standing in the room where my father had taught me how to work with the dead.

I glanced over at the body of the child lying so close to her mother and, against my own will, I felt myself becoming hard again.

There was a terrible, wonderful dread as I opened up the girl’s legs and rubbed my hard cock over her hairless pussy. It felt impossible, improbable that I was doing this terrible thing. But, in that moment, I just wanted to be free of all the obligations, all the rules I had to follow on a daily basis. Be helpful, be useful, be kind. The sight of my hard cock pressing into that tiny, shut hole was the most liberating thing I had ever known. It was like knocking on a door to someplace both exotic and a little bit frightening.

It took quite a lot of spit, and much huffing and pushing, but I was finally able to work the head of my cock into the child’s pussy. It felt amazing. No woman I have ever been with has ever been able to compete with that of a little girl. Just being able to hold one up like a doll and plunge your cock in and out of that insanely tight grip is a pleasure beyond something one can describe in mere words. It’s transcendent.

I held the child up and worked my hard cock in and out of her tight hole, animalistic sounds leaving me as I thrusted into her over and over again. I wanted to devour her whole. Her beauty, her essence. I wanted to cut her up and put her in an oven and eat her, anything to take this experience of her to the next level. To have her with me for always. My head went forward and I bit and sucked on her tiny nipples, biting her neck, face and chest over and over again in my passion. Nothing had ever felt this good to me in life. Life being reborn into a new self. A self that knew pleasure and satisfaction and not just loneliness and pain.

I wrapped my fingers around the girl’s throat, imagining seeing the tiny body struggle in fear and pain as I reached a ferocious climax, my balls filling her up with my cum. My body shook, ever patch of skin covered in sweat and breath coming out in loud, demonic sounding breaths. I pulled out if the child, come oozing from both her freshly plundered hole and the head of my dick.

I never spoke to my father about what happened that night. And, though I’m sure he must have noticed the fresh bite marks on the child’s body as well as the undeniable evidence that both mother and child had been sexually serviced, he never spoke a word about it. Sometimes I wonder if my father was not himself prone to indulging in some late night shenanigans with the dead, or if he himself was so dead inside that the thought of his own son sinking his cock into a child’s pussy simply failed to move him in any particular way.

I enjoyed many unliving partners after that night. Men, women, children, even infants, after a while the genders and ages made no real difference to me. It was really about the connection to them. Getting to hold and touch and experience pleasure with whoever I wished whenever I wished to. Nobody ever said no. Nobody ever got up and walked out whilst I was sleeping, leaving me a hollowed out shell for the rest of my life. And I never grew to hate any of them, unlike the living I had to contend with on a daily basis.

There’s a lot to be said for the dead.

When all is said and done, they're the only ones who always stay what they are.


End file.
